


Childhood

by boomsherlocka



Series: Alternate Meetings [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Kid John, Kid Sherlock, Kidlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4985920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boomsherlocka/pseuds/boomsherlocka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John meeting as children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Childhood

The little boy was thigh deep in the heather moor, hair windswept and face chapped. He could not have been more than five years old, and he seemed unaffected by the cloying scent of decay. He was holding very still as he watched the approach of a pair of grouse.

John wiped his hands on his tattered cords, which were tucked into a pair of willies that were just enough too large that he needed to wear an extra pair of thick wool socks to keep them on his feet. He had been adventuring all morning, playing hobbits and wizards with some of the other boys who lived nearby. They had ended up rather far from home and as they neared the moor the other boys grew frightened. They had been warned time and time again to stay away from the moors, lest they be swallowed up by the earth.

John was brave. He had explored the moors with Harry years ago and knew they were not dangerous if one was very careful and retreated when the ground gave way too much. So John was alone, hitting some of the tallest stalks of vegetation with a fallen stick. That had soon grown tiresome and the sun had begun to sink from the sky. He sighed and resigned himself to the journey home.

That is when he saw the boy. He must have been in the same spot for ages, but his stillness had not drawn John’s attention as he had walked past the first time. The grouse startled, taking flight, and only then did John feel comfortable in calling out.

“Why are you out here all alone?” John called, hands on his hips.

The little boy startled slightly, whipping his head around to send John a withering glare. “Why do you sound like that?  Your accent is by far the worst I have ever heard. I can hardly make out words through that frightful brogue.”

John’s bright blonde eyebrows shot up. The boy was a wild car with a posh accent and a razor sharp gaze. “You are in Scotland, you know. We don’t all sound like London posh-pots.”

The boy scoffed, trying to wade back in from the moor but finding himself rather stuck. His face bowed up with concentration and he wriggled a bit. It was fruitless. “I wandered away from my brother hours ago and he is far too lazy to come out this far.”

“Which means what, you’re stuck in this moor until it dries up?” John asked. “Or you ask someone for help and they pry you out.”

“I don’t need help,” the boy snapped, and  John imagined he stopped himself just short of a hiss.

“Right, of course, how silly of me,” John toned with an exaggerated bow. “As you were, Little Lord Fauntleroy. Maybe a grouse will wander close enough for you to eat.” John spun on his heel and he started walking away, a smirk growing on his face.

He heard the boy grunting and the soft squelch of the moor around his legs. The suction was too much, and kept the small boy locked into place. John was a handful of paces away when the little boy called out “Wait! Wait!”

John turned back around, his smile smug. “Yes? Need something?”

The little boy drew himself up, setting his shoulders and lifting his chin, steeling himself a bit. “I appear to be stuck. I require assistance.”

“Do you now?” John asked, unable to contain his glee. “Rotten luck.”

The boy groaned, wriggled a bit, and succeeded in making himself sink in the mud deeper. “Help me,” he snapped, holding out his thin, pale hands.

“I’ll not lift a finger to help you until you ask politely, like a civilized human being. Otherwise you’ll stay stuck in there and the grouse’ll build a nest in your hair.” John was triumphant as he watched the boy’s eyes narrow. He could see the gears turning in his mind as he weighed his options.

It was well and truly twilight when the little boy snapped, “Please. Please help me. There, is that good enough?”

John rolled his eyes and advanced on the boy, shrugging out of his jacket, tossing the boy one of the sleeves while he held on to the other one. He began to tug, slowly but surely getting the little boy unstuck from the deep mud. He kept pulling the boy, who was protesting weakly at being dragged, until they were far from the wet earth. John collapsed onto the ground, panting from exertion, and the little boy climbed over to him, trembling in cold.

“Put on the jacket,” John gasped, sitting up as he helped the boy. “Come on, you need to give me directions on how to get you back where you are staying.”

The boy nodded, teeth chattering, and pointed in the direction of the dwindling twilight. John stood, taking the boy’s free hand in his, and allowed him to lead the way.


End file.
